Tags » Prose

Idiolect On The M6 (Dream 11)

Y’know, we started calling him St. Mina, cos’ of his long, morose face which adopted this weighed down, grey kind of look. His shoulders were slumped, like a scholar’s, and his hands moved in a heavy motion, turning the wheel like he was steering a cruise liner down the long, lazy lines of an African river. 732 more words


Happy Birthday!

It was Okinawa, and her name was Hiroko. I tucked the shattered pieces of my life easily behind her quiet strength and in the tangle of our bed-sheets. 409 more words


In The Dark of Night

In the midst of confusion

In the midst of beauty

Our times in the dark of night

They are adventures of the imagination


I'd Like To Introduce You, To Me

About 8 months ago, I created this blog for the sole purpose of curing boredom and giving myself something to focus on rather than my ridiculous stress levels. 166 more words


The Killing Jar

Distant ships and your fingers on the lid of the killing jar. The taste of alcohol speaks to me of frozen landscapes while depression and lost love lurk somewhere nearby. 350 more words


Suzanna -#280

Suzanna – The way people are sometimes thrust apart, like magnets with similar poles pushed for an instant against each other only to be quickly repelled away. 35 more words